Bad Love: An Alpha's Regret (Leah and Aaron) novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72 

“Good riddance,” Marla says. 

I glance at her sharply but she doesn’t notice. She’s busy sh ooting daggers at Aaron’s back with her mascara-caked eyes. 

I take a deep breath. 

I’m not being nice. 

I look around the hall at the other wolves that are hanging around. A couple of older males look vaguely familiar and there are two younger guys who are conversing with 

my brother. 

No one approaches me. There are no welcomes. 

Everyone is still grieving, I remind myself. But that doesn’t make this ‘homecoming’ feel any less like ‘home’. 

It’s not like there would’ve been time to clean out my room or to assemble the pack, but everything about today just feels anticlimactic, and, well, bad. 

What’s worse, I don’t know what to do with myself or where to 

start. 

My brother approaches and he’s smiling. He pulls me into a hug. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” 

I soak up this hug. I needed one. 

I haven’t been around my family in a long time. And my memories of this place are so crystal clear-they were the only thing that kept me going in those early years-that I think seeing all the differences and feeling like an outsider has only compounded the negative thoughts. 

“You’re tired,” he tells me. “You should rest.” 

Is this how Aaron felt, being ‘dismissed’? 

I try not to be offended, because his heart is in the right place. I’m a mess right now and it has been a brutal night. 

“Go on up. Sleep for a few hours. We can figure things out later tonight.” 

I’m not really sure this is the best idea, but I also want to approach this carefully, as I’m sure I’m ruffling a lot of feathers and most people, no matter how supportive, always struggle with ‘change’ at least at the start. 

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” 

Marla grins. 

They stand arm-in-arm as I walk off. 

I don’t go back to my room. I hit the kitchen first. There was a 

wolf that used to bake apples for me and make some kind of homemade poptart. But the kitchen is empty and the pans used for my bacon and eggs are still on the stove. Di rty bowls are left on the counter. It isn’t a disaster, but there isn’t a spread of food laid out or the team of wolves that would be up and making breakfast for the pack by this time of morning. 

I check the giant refrigerator. There are a bu nch of takeout containers and leftovers that look too old. Aside from the carton of eggs and a gallon of milk, there isn’t much else. 

Moving out of the kitchen I take the back stairs up to the main landing. From here, I can go up two or three flights. I can turn left or right. On a lark I take a right, toward my father’s wing of the house. 

The hallway looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a long while. There are pawprints on the floor, and the kind of stains that come from dirt being ground in by foot traffic over a long time. Again, I remind myself not to judge. Life is messy, people are what matter, not how meticulous a house is. 

Though part of me is inwardly grimacing. Between the main hall/den, my room, I’m a little anxious that dad’s room won’t be much better. I would think with all the money I’ve been sending that they could’ve hired a housekeeper? 

No. I shouldn’t get hung up on money or details or a mess. These are minor details. And I can straighten it up. The thought takes shape and I find myself wanting to do just that. I want to clean and set things to right.